A Vicky Hill Exclusive! (28 page)

‘You’ve really been a great help.’

‘Anything for our Annabel,’ Mrs Evans said with a click of her dentures.

Suddenly, an odd expression flooded her face as if a light went on upstairs. ‘Don’t you lodge with Mrs Poultry?’

‘Yes. Why?’

Mrs Evans grabbed my arm. ‘It’s the Salome Steel competition,’ she said in a furtive whisper. ‘I’ve heard on the grapevine that she knows who the real author is.’

‘Really?’ I was surprised Mrs Poultry would even care, considering she’d declared
Voodoo Vixens
as utter filth.

An awkward silence fell between us until it occurred to me that Mrs Evans wanted me to ask Mrs Poultry who the author was. There was no way I would ask my landlady.

‘The
Gazette
is giving out clues every week,’ I said. ‘Perhaps I can slip them to you ahead of time?’

‘And in return, I’ll keep an eye on our Annabel.’ Mrs Evans sighed. ‘I’m not asking for myself. It’s for Sadie.’ She pulled a scrap of paper towel out of her apron and dabbed at each eye. ‘Ever since she went on the stage, Mr Evans has banned her from the house. I haven’t seen her for months. Have you any idea how it feels not being able to see your own kin?’

‘Yes, I do.’ I did, actually, and it was dreadful.

‘Not being able to share Saturday morning shopping?’ Mrs Evans cried. ‘No evening Bingo on a Thursday at the social club.’ Mrs Evans swallowed hard. ‘Land’s End would be such a
special
day out for us.’

‘And Mr Evans need never know.’

Mrs Evans brightened up. ‘I’m told on a clear day you can even see France!’

I didn’t have the heart to tell her seeing France from Land’s End was a geographical impossibility. ‘I’ll see what I can do. Must go. Bye.’

Outside, the spatter of rain had turned into a steady drizzle. It was so murky that I couldn’t even see the canal, only yards from the front door.

In no time at all, my safari jacket clung damply to my chest. My hair stuck to my head; water dripped off the tip of my nose. I felt utterly depressed and wanted to cry. Far from being thrilled at discovering Annabel’s secret scoop, I realized not only was she working on the same exclusive as me, she practically had her story in the bag.

True, I had recruited an excellent informer. Mrs Evans seemed a good sort of person genuinely concerned for Annabel’s welfare. Even her desire to cheat in the Salome Steel competition was endearing. It was for her daughter, after all.

Mrs Evans was warm, kind, and caring – nothing like my mother who was never one for mollycoddling.
Good grief!
Surely you’re not jealous of Annabel’s daily help!

Annabel, Annabel,
Annabel
. What had I ever done to deserve such an enemy? My mild dislike for her morphed into cold loathing. My eyes began to sting with unshed tears. Then, I thought, why not shed them? It wasn’t as if anyone cared.

The crunch of car tyres brought me up short. Ahead, a dark shape emerged through the morning gloom. My heart lifted. Perhaps Annabel had suffered an attack of conscience and had come back to pick me up? My stomach went over as the car drew closer. It wasn’t Annabel’s BMW, it was the black Porsche.

Blast!
My first thought was to turn round and hobble back to the relative safety of Beaver Lock Lodge until it occurred to me that must be exactly where the Porsche was heading.
Good God!
Was it possible that
Chester
had planted the poppet as a warning to Annabel and he was now on his way to finish the job? What about kindly Mrs Evans? Would he kill her, too?

I stopped. Paralysed. The car would be upon me in seconds. With the canal on one side and the hedge on the other, I was done for.

‘I
s this the way to Beaver Lock Lodge?’ called out a familiar voice as the Porsche stopped alongside me. ‘I’m looking for the reporter, Annabel Lake.’

What nerve! The killer was even asking for directions! ‘Good morning. Horrible weather we’re having.’

‘Shit!’
Chester removed his sunglasses and leaned out of the window. ‘Vicky? Is that
you
?’

‘Hullo.’ I gave a weak wave. ‘Didn’t recognize you for a moment.’

‘What the hell are you doing here? No! Don’t tell me.’ Chester’s voice was laced with sarcasm. ‘Out for an early morning hedge-jump practice in the rain –
and
, in your pyjamas?’

‘That’s right.’ I forced a hearty smile. ‘There’s an excellent privet down there.’

‘Is that so?’ Chester regarded me with great amusement. ‘Then you must know Annabel Lake.’

I hesitated for a fraction.
Careful, Vicky
. If I admitted to knowing her, he’d soon figure out we worked at the
Gazette
together and my cover would be blown. There was also poor Mrs Evans. I didn’t think she’d need much torture to reveal all she knew.

I had to stop Chester from going to Beaver Lock Lodge. Even if it meant putting my own life in danger. ‘Does Annabel Lake drive a silver BMW?’ I asked innocently.

Chester nodded.

‘She passed me at least an hour ago,’ I said, pretending to shiver with cold. ‘Goodness, I shouldn’t have stopped to chat. It’s freezing and I have a
very
long walk home.’

‘Let me give you a ride,’ he said, switching off the engine.

‘Are you
sure
?’

‘Oh, I’m sure.’ Chester got out and slid into the narrow space between the hedge and the car. ‘You’ll have to clamber over the driver’s seat.’

He closed the door and pulled me close to him where we did a clumsy do-si-do so I could get in his side.

‘Allow me to take your bag.’

‘No! I can manage!’ I snapped. If he looked inside, he’d know I’d found the poppet! He’d know I’d guessed his game. I hurled myself over the bucket seat, promptly getting my pyjama leg hooked over the gear stick.

‘Careful now.’ Chester sounded amused. ‘Do you want a hand?’

I felt mortified. No doubt he was getting a good thrill looking at my bottom – just like all men do. ‘No, thanks.’ I yanked at the fabric. The leg tore. I fell and hit the side of my face on the dashboard and rolled onto the plastic bag. There was a nasty crackle and snap.
Blast!

Could my day get any worse? I then thought, of course it could! I was getting into a car with a
murderer
!

Chester slipped into the driver’s seat, pulled on his seat belt – I swiftly fastened mine – started the engine, and eased the car forward.

‘Wait!’ I cried, suddenly realizing that the only turning space was at Beaver Lock Lodge. We’d have to drive to there after all and, knowing my luck, Mrs Evans was bound to spot us. ‘You’ll have to reverse back to the main road, I’m afraid.’

‘Why?’

‘A few minutes before you arrived, the Gipping County Council dustcart drove down there to empty the bins,’ I said wildly. ‘It’s Tuesday. We’re bound to meet it coming back.’

‘No problem.’ Chester deftly thrust the gear stick into reverse and we flew backwards at high speed in a dead-straight line. It was the mark of a professional getaway driver. I couldn’t help but feel impressed.

PAAARRRP! PAAARRRP!

‘Goddamit!’ Chester slammed his foot on the brakes.

Ronnie Binns and his dustcart – marked clearly
GIPPING COUNTY COUNCIL
– had just entered the gravel lane leading to Beaver Lock Lodge and was blocking our exit.

‘I could have sworn it had gone past me,’ I muttered, wondering if Gipping County Council really
did
empty Annabel’s bins on Tuesdays or was it just an excuse for Ronnie’s visit?

Ronnie reversed a few measly yards, enough to wave Chester through with a fanfare of flashing lights and another long
PAAARRRP
on his horn. We bumped over the corner of a grass verge and turned into the main road.

‘I suppose I’d better tell you where I live,’ I said lightly, stealing a glimpse at my chauffeur. Chester’s face looked like thunder. ‘I live in Rumble Lane. It’s not too far,’ I chattered on. ‘It’s really kind of you to give me a lift.’

Chester still did not answer. Then, without warning, he slammed his foot down hard on the accelerator! The force pinned me to the back of my seat. I glanced at the speedometer. We had already hit seventy miles an hour! To my horror, Chester took a hairpin bend without slowing down, overtaking three cars in quick succession, and ignoring the blaring horns of enraged motorists.

I clung to the side of my seat as Chester drove faster. We reached a T-junction. He barely paused, cutting across oncoming traffic with only a whisker to spare, narrowly missing a cyclist. ‘Gipping is that way!’ I cried as we sped away from the town.

Chester merely increased his speed. ‘Please slow down,’ I begged, but my pleas fell on deaf ears. To my dismay, we flew past a sign saying
GIPPING
–
COME AGAIN SOON
and headed out towards the open moors.

Stunned, I stared out of the window at the passing countryside, feeling a pang of longing in the knowledge that I would never live to experience sexual ecstasy, let alone have a husband and children.

Suddenly, Chester turned left into an empty car park. Except for three wooden picnic tables and a vandalized concrete hut marked
TOILETS
, the place was deserted.

This is it, Vicky
.

The Porsche came to a bumpy stop. Chester switched off the engine and turned to face me. ‘It’s time you and I had a little chat.’

I nodded meekly, clutching the plastic bag to my chest.

‘You’re an interesting young woman,’ Chester said. ‘Someone who lies as much as you do must have something to hide.’

With a sinking heart, I knew what I was up against. Interrogation. I recalled Dad’s advice:

1.   Stick as close to the truth as possible
.

2.   Do not admit to anything without a lawyer present
.

3.   Be polite and never engage
.

Chester stroked his chin thoughtfully. ‘Let’s start with that louse, Randall. You told me you hardly knew him but I hear you and he were hot and heavy on Sunday night.’

Seeing my shocked expression, he added, ‘It’s a small town. Word gets around.’

‘We hadn’t met last week,’ I said hotly. ‘We only really met
this
week and what’s it to you? Dave and I are both single.’
Steady, Vicky
.

‘Dave’s small fry,’ Chester went on. ‘You are far more interesting. What exactly were you doing skulking around pigsties at The Grange?’

‘I told you, I was practising my hedge-jumping skills.’

‘After a Chinese takeout?’ Chester sneered. ‘You thought I wouldn’t check what you were up to?’ He leaned over towards me, his voice heavy with menace. ‘It’s you, isn’t it? You’re the one planting those chicken corpses all over Gipping!’

Affronted, I cried, ‘It most certainly is not!’

‘You think I don’t know what’s happening in the woods?’

The woods again! I was intrigued by Chester’s accusation. If he thought I was involved in Lady Trewallyn’s coven, it meant he was no longer soup du jour in her bed. It certainly explained why he was so furious with his ex-lover at the graveside; why he was lurking at The Grange; and why he broke into the
Gazette
to steal Dave’s photographs. He’d found out she was sleeping with Dave and was mad with jealousy. I bet he didn’t know about Sharpe yet, either!

Instead of getting rattled, I knew this was the perfect time to strike a deal. He was bound to have vital information to back up my scoop. What’s more, if my hunch was right, and he had been tossed out of the coven, he’d be willing to talk.

‘The good news is that Dave and Lady Trewallyn are no longer an item,’ I said. ‘The bad news is that she’s met someone else.’

Chester turned pale. ‘Who?’

‘Coroner Sharpe. I saw them on the day of the funeral actually. Just after you left. There was instant chemistry. Then, I saw them canoodling at the morgue,’ I added. ‘He’s very wealthy. Won half a million on the football pools.’

Chester’s shoulders slumped. He fell silent and looked morosely out of the window, no doubt crushed by my revelation. Perhaps he really loved her, after all.

I reached out and gave his arm a compassionate squeeze. ‘I’m sorry. Do you want to tell me about it?’

‘Sure, I’ll tell you.’ Chester turned back to me, his expression hard. ‘For ten thousand pounds.’

Was he insane? The most the
Gazette
ever paid for information was fifty quid and that was in three instalments. ‘Why would I pay
you
ten thousand pounds?’

‘Because you’re a newspaper reporter.’ Chester gave a harsh laugh. ‘As a matter of fact, I was on my way to see Annabel Lake when I conveniently ran into you.’

For once, I was stumped for a reply. So he
had
known all along.

‘Did you really think I didn’t see you hiding at the
Gazette
the other night?’ Chester demanded.

I felt my face redden but brazened it out. ‘I was working late and you startled me,’ I said.